Blue Smoke by Nora Roberts

too.” Bianca raised her eyebrows. “Well, if he lives through that, he may be worth keeping awhile.”
    W hen the lunch crowd thinned out, Reena sat—at her father’s insistence—with an enormous plate of spaghetti. With Pete taking over for him, he started making the rounds. She’d seen him do it all her life, and knew her grandfather had done the same before him.
    With a glass of wine, a bottle of water, a cup of coffee—depending on the time of day—he would go by each booth or table, have a word, sometimes a full conversation. If it was a regular, he would sometimes sit down for a few minutes. Talk ranged from sports, food, politics to neighborhood news, births, deaths. The subject didn’t matter, she knew.
    It was the intimacy.
    Today it was water, and when he sat across from her he took a long pull. “It’s good?” He nodded at her plate.
    â€œThe best.”
    â€œThen put more of it in your stomach.”
    â€œHow’s Mr. Alegrio’s bursitis?”
    â€œActing up. He says it’s going to rain. His grandson got a promotion, and his roses look good this year.” Gib grinned. “What did he have for his meal?”
    â€œThe special, with minestrone and the house salad, a glass of Peroni, a bottle of sparkling water, bread sticks and a cannoli.”
    â€œYou always remember. It’s our loss you’re taking those criminal justice courses, the chemistry, instead of restaurant management.”
    â€œI’ll always have time to help out here, Dad. Always.”
    â€œI’m proud of you. Proud you know what you want and you’re working for it.”
    â€œSomebody raised me that way. How’s the father of the bride?”
    â€œI’m not thinking about it yet.” He shook his head, drank more water. “I’m not thinking about the moment when she comes toward me in her dress. When I walk her down the aisle and give her to Vince. Blubber like a baby if I do. It’s easy to tuck that away while we’re dealing with the insanity of preparing for that moment.”
    He glanced over, smiled. “Somebody else must’ve heard you were home. Hey, John.”
    â€œGib.”
    With a cry of pleasure, Reena scooted up, flung her arms around John Minger. “I missed you! Haven’t seen you since Christmas. Sit down. Be right back.”
    She dashed off, got another setup. When she plopped down again, she scooped up half the spaghetti and put it on the second plate. “You’re eating some of this. Dad thinks I starve myself at college.”
    â€œWhat can I get you to drink, John?”
    â€œAnything soft’s good. Thanks.”
    â€œI’ll have it brought right out. Gotta get back to work.”
    â€œTell me everything,” Reena demanded. “How are you, your kids, the grandkids, life in general?”
    â€œDoing good, keeping busy.”
    He looked good, Reena thought. A little heavier under the eyes, and his hair was nearly stone gray now. But it suited him. The fire had madehim part of the family. No, more than the fire, she corrected. What he had done since. Pitching in to work, answering the endless questions she’d posed.
    â€œAny interesting cases?”
    â€œThey’re all interesting. You still up for ride-alongs?”
    â€œYou call, I’m there.”
    His face softened with a smile. “Had one start in a kid’s bedroom. Eight-year-old boy. Nobody home at the time it engaged. No accelerants, no matches, no lighter. No sign of forced entry or incendiary components.”
    â€œElectrical?”
    â€œNope.”
    She began to eat again as she considered. “Chemistry set? Kids that age often like playing with chemistry sets.”
    â€œNot this one. Told me he’s going to be a detective.”
    â€œWhat time of day did it start?”
    â€œAround two in the afternoon. Kid’s in school, parents at work. No previous